


and in your smile, i feel at peace

by AgentJoanneMills



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, Reckless Gay Bean and Death Gay Bean, Scylla Ramshorn-centric, Scylla has a lot of Thoughts™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentJoanneMills/pseuds/AgentJoanneMills
Summary: Looking at Raelle Collar, who has no idea of the power that lies beneath her skin, raw and wild and mighty, Scylla resists the urge to find Alder and taunt her becausestorm and furyis here.Andstorm and furyis beautiful.Alternatively:Of course Scylla would fall in love with the one person she shouldn’t.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 17
Kudos: 220
Collections: Gays in Fort Salem





	and in your smile, i feel at peace

**Author's Note:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

_Nothing ever ends poetically._

_It ends and we turn it into poetry._

_All that blood was never once beautiful._

_It was just red._

_—Kait Rokowski_

****

Scylla never really cared about rules. They are too restrictive, too limiting, and if there’s one thing Scylla does like it’s pushing her limits—how fast she can run, how high she can float whilst on stolen Salva, how many barbed words she can cloak within honeyed tones, how many lies she can weave before she buckles under all the sins she’s committed, how much blood she can spill before she drowns _and drowns and drowns_ in crimson—

—so it’s like oil and water, really, Scylla and rules, never mixing the way they should and instead creating a mixture of murk and filth and all the things she can’t escape from.

It’s almost poetic, if she were the kind of girl who believes in the beauty of words . . .

. . . or in beauty at all.

****

But then.

One of the first things Alder tells her recruits is to meet the coming threats with storm and fury. 

Looking at Raelle Collar, who has no idea of the power that lies beneath her skin, raw and wild and mighty, Scylla resists the urge to find Alder and taunt her because _storm and fury_ is here.

And _storm and fury_ is beautiful.

There Raelle is, with sunshine in her hair and the summer sky in her eyes. She looks at the world as if everything and everyone in it has personally and deeply offended her, but also like she couldn’t care less about whatever’s happening so long as they leave her alone. She wears bravado like a cloak and sarcasm like a shield, and her smirks are designed to be as cutting as a blade.

Scylla thinks about peeling all her layers to see if she burns just as hot as the sun she seems to be, all golden splendour. She wants to see if there are flames licking through her bones or if the sinews of her arms hold together tempests of ruthless anger. She thinks about taking each piece of Raelle apart, pulling and prodding and digging until she understands how someone like her could possibly _exist_.

For Scylla thinks that the world at large doesn’t deserve Raelle Collar at all—she who is full of rage and grief but still finds it in herself to heal people, to take their diseases into her own body, to relieve them of their pains. She willingly mends the broken and the ill, welcoming their wounds as her own as if she deserves to suffer in their stead. 

And then an alarming thought:

If given the chance, Scylla would like to take the pain away from her, with no hesitation.

What’s alarming, honestly, is that she doesn’t feel alarmed at the thought at all.

Of course Scylla would fall in love with the one person she shouldn’t. _Of course_.

It really isn’t surprising.

(Oil and water.

Scylla and rules.)

Raelle’s usual smirk shifts into a smile, soft and genuine and warm, and Scylla?

She never stood a chance.

Love is a dangerous word, especially for someone like Scylla who is used to having nothing to lose. The barest whisper of feelings is usually enough to send her packing, a ghost in the wind never to be heard from again.

But Raelle is the sun and Scylla is the moon and despite the constraints of the heavens they still meet during eclipses, and the light of the sun still reflects on the moon and their dance is as ancient as the beginning of the universe.

Raelle is inevitable, and she is both the unstoppable force and the immovable object, and in a split second Scylla decides that she will risk everything for this girl—this girl with a chip on both her shoulders but still willing to carry the burdens of her unit, this girl who looks at Scylla and says, with full conviction, _Run away with me_.

And in that split second, Scylla catches a glimpse of infinity, there hidden in the depths of Raelle’s eyes and in the sliver of her smile.

_I love you_ , Scylla thinks, and she’s not surprised with how easily that thought comes and how easily she’s accepting it. Raelle is in her arms, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek, and her scent is a comfort pervading Scylla’s senses.

 _I love you_ , Scylla thinks, closing her eyes. _Until death do us part_ —she remembers the phrase from ancient marriage vows, from rituals older than even the Accords. A fitting tribute, for they’re in a wedding, though a hot spike of anxiety jolts through her. Something’s brewing, _that_ she can feel, and death seems much closer than ever before. There’s panic, but Scylla’s not worried about herself.

 _I love you_ , Scylla thinks, stubbornly, the words echoing against the walls she built within her heart. They ricochet as if buffeted by a Windstrike, and they are so potent that she can practically taste them on her tongue.

It seems heretic, almost, to not say the words aloud to Raelle, and so she does. And she revels in the way Raelle burrows deeper into her, burying her face in Scylla’s hair. Her lips skirt over Scylla’s neck, no doubt feeling her racing pulse. She can feel Raelle’s smile against her skin.

There’s fear, growing bigger and more real as the clock continues to tick.

But for now, Scylla closes her eyes and savours the sunset.

The thing that Scylla learns is . . .

The thing is this.

Raelle loves too hard.

She loves too hard—hard enough that it _bleeds_.

It’s a smart move from Quartermain, bringing Raelle to Scylla. Diabolical and smart. It’s the sort of thing Scylla could respect, if circumstances were different and it was not Raelle’s heart on the line.

Seeing her so lost, so confused, so miserable is the one thing that breaks Scylla, but even through the fog of terror there’s a lingering sense of _clarity_ because Raelle has always been the exception to all the rules Scylla has broken. Raelle’s face is wet with tears and her hair is a tangled mess and her shirt is damp with sweat but still she’s the most beautiful person in Scylla’s eyes. There’s desperation in their kisses and deep lament in their voices, and Scylla would break herself over and over and over again if only to save Raelle from what’s coming.

Another thing:

When Raelle loves . . .

. . . she doesn’t really know how to stop.

Neither does Scylla.

She can only hope that they both survive this.

There are no miracles, not really.

But there is love—a mantra, a spell, a hymn—and Scylla will hold onto it until she breathes her last exhale.

Nothing ever really dies, though.

So Scylla thinks even death won’t be enough to take her away from Raelle.

Still, she will find a way to get out of this alive.

And then . . .

Well.

Maybe Raelle would like to go to her lighthouse.

That trip is long overdue.

She tastes blood in her mouth. Her clothes are too thin and the cold seeps deep within but she doesn’t shiver.

The sun smiles in her memory, and that is enough to keep her warm.

**Author's Note:**

> I legit Cannot with this show. Send help.
> 
> Come yell at me or something on [Tumblr](http://agentjoannemills.tumblr.com/ask) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/agentjoannemil1). 
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated; feelings fuel everything. :))


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